A child squatted on a parched pavement, surrounded by garbage and dark spots that could be anything from rainwater to overflowing sewage. A frame of pure, uninterrupted white surrounded her, shutting off this alien figure from the rest of the air-conditioned, cement room. Niswarth students shouted out what they observed in the projected image. I vaguely perceived sweating, uniformed men carrying platters to a table behind us. Within moments, the warm smell of Indian spices coated the room in a thickening blanket of flavor, and the engaging eyes of each attentive student began to stray to the mysterious dishes behind us. With slackening enthusiasm, my peers continued to name objects, atmospheres, and sensations in the image. The impressions of flavors that now permeated the air summoned a hunger I didn’t know existed from the depths of my subconscious, and strong spices unlike anything in America flamed inside my nose and throat. The frozen, forgotten child remained motionless in the dirt. Finally, with the press of a button, Mr. Mundra allowed a complete darkness to consume the image.